Hope and Ruin
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Even with the worst of the damage set to rights, there is a lot of work left before the Warren will be back to it's former glory. Aster is more then ready to see it through, he just never considered that Jack Frost would be willing to help. Everything else that came after, well, he'd never considered any of that, either. Eventual Jackrabbit
1. And It's Heavy Now

So, not quite sure what I've started here, or where it's going. Guess I'll be as surprised as you guys, yeah?

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After the Easter that never was, the repair of the Tooth Palace was tantamount. Firstly, because the memories were too precious to be left unprotected in Pitch's lair, of all places, and secondly because Tooth's job was an around-the-clock commitment. Since Easter was seasonal, Aster's domain had been prioritized as second. It stung a little, as justifications aside, Aster could still remember what it felt like to be invisible, to be walked through, and he ached, no, he _burned_ to have his home set to rights again. But he was nothing if not practical, and Tooth's home needed to take precedence, so it did. They all pitched in, Yeti's and mini-fairies and guardians alike, until, at last, every last box was back in place. Tooth had been effusive with her thanks and praise, gushing over every attendant worker, stuffing them all full of tropical fruits and other teeth-friendly snacks, giving out hugs and handshakes like they were going out of style. Aster took his own fair share of the affection with the good-natured grumble everyone expected from him. He couldn't help but notice though, that Jack, skinny, pale little Jack, seemed both overwhelmed and yet starving for the attention Tooth lavished on him every time she flitted by. The boy seemed not to know what to do with his hands during each awkward hug, or how to respond to a casual touch on the arm, first tensing in surprise, only leaning into it when it was being taken away. He looked a little lost, a little out of his depth, and while he kept the same mischievous expression on his face, it did not reach his eyes, and Aster wondered if anyone else had noticed. Even at the end, when Tooth offered him his teeth back, for a longer perusal, he'd declined more politely then Aster had thought him capable of, assuring Tooth that he'd already had all his questions answered, as he gently handed the golden box back like it might have bitten him. No one else found the act strange at all, but to Aster the boy's reassuring smile was positively false.

Jack was wrong, there were more answers to be had, and Aster intended to find them.

The opportunity presented itself a few days later, after their combined attentions had been turned towards the Warren. Slowly, the devastation from Pitch's attack was reversed. At least, as much as was possible to accomplish in just a few days; Aster would still have his work cut out for him for the next few months, carefully replanting what was killed and coaxing everything else back into full bloom. The Warren, unlike the Tooth palace, was a mostly living thing, and like all living things, only time and tenderness could restore it truly. Aster had dismissed is friends, thanking them no less, but perhaps more conservatively than Tooth had for their aide, preparing himself for the long, grueling haul that would remain solely his to attend too.

Until the very next day, when Jack showed up again, unannounced. Aster had been ready to dismiss the boy, still wary of Jack's intentions, or at the very least his aptitude, but something in the boy's hollow eyes begged him not to, so Aster consented him to stay. The boy was thrown straight into the deep end with the hardest work; the replanting. It was hot, tiresome and filthy, digging bare-handed into the soil to the proper depth, laying the seeds, patting the soil back just right, firmly but not too tightly. No tools could be used as they disrupted the flow of magical energy, and not shortcuts could be taken for the same. When the whole field was done, Aster would summon a rain to fall, just heavy enough to wet the earth and encourage the growth, the magic of the Warren and Aster himself feeding the delicate new greenery as much as any water could. As difficult as it was, Aster had always found the planting soothing, although now he found himself stiffer, more exhausted then he remembered, every bit of discomfort reminding him that he was still weak from lack of belief. Sandy's return and the subsequent good dreams he'd been spreading of his fellow Guardians had certainly helped, but Aster suspected he wouldn't feel any better until he'd had a couple of successful Easter's under his belt. It was his usual gruff demeanor combined with his frustration at his own newly-defined limits, and likely a predisposition against the boy that found him snarling at Jack the third time the boy accidentally frosted the little mound he was trying to pat down. In retrospect, Aster was the worst sort of asshole for it, considering the boy had been the only one who'd extended help above and beyond what was expected, and he was new to this, and was also likely suffering from the power influx and subsequent control issues that came from having believers for the very first time, but It was so second nature by now to yell at Jack, that Aster had gone off on the kid before he'd even realized he'd done it. In the sudden silence after his outburst, Aster watched Jack fidget, face down, a suspicious glimmer in his eyes that Aster had seen twice before, once in North's workshop barely a week earlier, when Aster had taken a dig at the boy's lack of believers, and once many years ago, Easter Sunday 1968, their disastrous first meeting, as Aster had torn the boy to shreds. It brought his up short, and he floundered for a moment, casting about in his head for the suitable words for an apology, before Jack decided to make for his staff and bolt, but instead the boy surprised him, but straightening his shoulders and continuing, brushing the frosted soil off the top and repacking it with moist, cool soil.

"Like this?" He'd said, simply, but with a roughness in his voice that had made Aster wince in guilt.

"Yeah, Frostbite, like that." Aster had said, after swallowing a couple times to clear his suddenly dry throat. The boy had nodded; his eyes still downcast and moved on to the next hole, carefully scooping at the dirt with pale hands stained black. It was somehow moving to Aster, to see those slender fingers working so diligently at his command, and he'd felt his throat dry again for an entirely different reason that he was loathe to name. It was this sudden tightness of his larynx that be blamed for his lack of apology, or even the explanation that a little bit of frost could hardly hurt the seeds, hardy as they were. They worked in silence after that, tense and awkward. When Aster finally called it quits at sunset, Jack had accomplished far more then Aster had thought he'd be able to in a day, and most if done near-perfectly, with no other little slips of magic after the one that had earned him the scolding. Jack climbed to his feet slowly, obviously sore from the day's work, grimy and looking a trifle to warm for the comfort of a winter elemental. It was on the tip of Aster's tongue to offer Jack a place to bathe and rest, but he swallowed it, merely inclining his head towards the boy as he gathered his staff. Jack responded in kind with a wordless salute, gestured with the curved end of his staff as he made his way back towards the tunnels that would take him home.

Aster figured that would be the last he'd see of the boy, until either the next crisis or Jack felt like causing trouble, but the boy returned the next day, unbidden and almost shy, asking once again with some phantom scent of desperation to help. He was nearly as dirty as the day previous, like he had rubbed at the most visible of dirt but hadn't properly washed up, and Aster couldn't help but wonder if the boy even _had_ a place to wash up in. Suddenly uncomfortable at the thought, he pushed it away and beckoned the boy forward. They returned to the field they'd begun earlier, the soil freshly wetted from the rains Aster had summoned overnight, tiny green shots already breaking ground from the newly planted seeds. Aster almost thought he'd caught a tiny smile on Jack's lips at the sight, but if he had it was gone, buried beneath a face of concentration Aster hadn't ever seen on the boy prior to now. In quiet agreement, they'd begun where they'd left off; working alongside each other again, unspeaking but less tense then the day before had been. They accomplished even more together this day then the last, and although they hadn't said a word, when Jack left things between them seemed somehow better then they had earlier.

Jack came back the next day, looking and acting much the same. They made some small talk today, mostly about the Warren, and the rest of the work that would be required to restore it. Jack returned again the day after, and the next, and every day things smoothed between them, just a little bit further, until Aster could almost mistake the quiet moments between them as companionable, even if Jack still seemed ready to flinch and flee at any sudden movement.

On the fifth day, Aster had taken pity on the bedraggled boy and had offered him a shot at the washbasin, to rinse the worst of the dirt. Jack had blinked at him wide eyed for a moment, then delicately accepted, like the offer was made of glass. Aster had watched as the boy had fumbled about his kitchen, bent forward over the bowl and clumsily splashing water onto his face, rubbing at his cheeks with fingers still blackened in the creases, then practically shoving his whole head forward into the bowl to wet his hair, one hand bracing himself on the tabletop, the other hurriedly scrubbing through his short hair. When he finally pulled back and accepted the offered towel, he somehow still managed to look more like a drowned sprite instead of the clean-cut boy he'd been only days previous. His hair was a washed out grey from the remnants of dirt, the filth ground into the creases on his palms, under his nails and between his bare toes. There was still a smudge of black in the delicate whorl of one ear, and his clothes were practically ruined, the knees of Jack's ancient pants stiffened with caked on mud with practically the consistency of concrete. Aster watched Jack scowl down at his grubby hoodie, but the boy made no move to take it off for washing, nor did Aster offer the service of his laundry tub, currently kept for the sole use of washing his linens. In truth, Aster was already uncomfortable having Jack in his personal space as it was, even if it was the mannerly thing to do, and the sooner the boy left, the better. Eventually jack just sighed, giving perfect cleanliness up a lost cause and retrieving his staff to leave. Aster walked him out the door, watching the boy give a crooked tilt of his lips and the same salute as always as he made his way to wherever it was he went when he wasn't here.

Back to Burgess maybe, to the lake he seemed to frequent? For some reason, not knowing the answer rattled Aster, just a little, and he vowed to ask Jack. Eventually, perhaps, if it came up in a conversation, he'd ask.

Wouldn't do to show he cared or was worried or anything, at least not yet, not until he'd figured out what it was about Jack that made him want to peel the boy open like the petals of a flower until he could see all the secret, hidden things that he was made of.


	2. And It Weighs Me Down

The dirt on his cheek itched, just as the dirt on the back of his neck and ground into his scalp did too, aggravated by the not-sweat that formed as the steady warmth of the Warren systematically melted the frost the Jack had to summon to his skin to keep cool. If Jack were smarter, he'd have learned by now to stop touching his face, rubbing his neck, or running his hands through his hair while working. The actions did nothing but smear the dark soil caked to his hands all over the rest of him, but old habit's died hard and he fidgeted when he was nervous. Which he almost always was, around Bunny.

The guy had a wicked temper and was a crack shot with the boomerangs, so sue him.

Regardless, a week into this routine he should have known better, but Jack was a slow learner, for the most part. Which was why he was back here again, today. Not that Bunny ever thanked him, or was even nice to him, but it didn't really matter. Thanks and niceties weren't why Jack was here. He was here because of the slow learner thing, wasn't that right? Or maybe because he was just crazy, hadn't someone said once that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results? Over a week into this routine and Jack could've set a watch to Bunny's behaviour. Step on anything you shouldn't, he yells. Frost anything you shouldn't he yells. Ask a dumb question that you shouldn't, he yells. How they guy hadn't gone hoarse yet Jack didn't know. But Jack was prone to exaggeration too, couldn't be that bad, right? After all, Jack had come back.

Why had he come back again?

Oh, yeah, _right._

Unable to stop the action, Jack found himself itching behind his ear, both from nerves and actual itch, doubtlessly compounding the problem by smearing more dirt onto his already filth skin. Jack had tried washing up in his lake, but the water was still frozen enough that his clothes would've just iced solid, and the air was too cool for proper drying. Not that he could've stood around in the buff waiting for them to dry, now that he had believers he couldn't run the risk of traumatizes the younglings with his pale, pasty ass. Well, formerly pasty, Jack was as muddy as his clothes, and no amount of cold lake water scoped with bare hands could fix it without soap, and likely some kind of washcloth. Assuming of course, the Jack's fluctuating powers didn't just re-freeze the water solid at the first touch. It sucked; Jack hadn't been this out of control since he'd been reborn. Flying especially sucked, because even his control over wind had shifted, like a sudden growth spurt, leaving him tumbling onto more than a few rough landings. The remnants of bruises throbbed uncomfortably under his clothes, but Jack refused to let it show. Jack had debated asking Jamie to borrow his bathroom, but for the same reason he hadn't, have a frozen water pipe would doubtlessly be hard to fix and raise a lot of questions so far into springtime. The land may still have been thawing, but thawing it was, and Jack knew when he wasn't wanted.

Jack had also debated asking Bunny for soap next time the other Guardian offered him the washbasin, but Jack wasn't about to overstep his bounds. It was enough that the other had offered at all, or, more likely judging by the faintly disgusted look on the Rabbit's face, that Bunny had simply been tired of working alongside a walking pigpen. Jack had been massively uncomfortable the whole time he'd splashed himself down, hyper aware of the Rabbit's larger frame nearly hovering over him as the water in the bowl had slowly blackened with grime. He knew it was a futile effort in the end, but the offer had been made and Jack would never say never, not when the alternative was to never have an offer at all. Friendships were give and take, right? Couldn't be that hard to make them work. Maybe.

Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Tamp down on frost so hard that hand shake. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatre peatrepeatrepeat...

Jack blinks, sways a little, glances up from under his bangs to bee if Bunn's noticed. The Rabbit is a few feet ahead of Jack, back mostly turned, which is a no, he probably didn't. Good, it's easier to be here like this when they don't look straight at each other; when their eyes never meet. Jack rises to his feet as smoothly as he can, refuses to allow himself to stumble on legs that are stiff and numb from hours of kneeling. He saunters as casually as possible to the tureen of water left nearby for refreshment, scooping himself a ladleful and freezing it in his mouth so he has an ice cube to suck on while he works. Usually he could just form the ice from the water in the air, but he'd been warm for too long and is a little dried out, so outside water it is. Before he returns to work, he frosts the outside of the tureen, using the condensation to continue keeping the water cool. He needs more water than this, the ice is already melting away on his tongue, but he is a guest and gulping away like a greedyguts is unmannerly. His mother would never approve. Not that she was alive to approve, but he likes to think that her approval or at least the fantasy of it might still matter somehow.

In the back of Jack's mind he can still hear her voice, entreating him to be careful that day he led his sister straight into his own untimely ending. He's a careless sort of person really, always had been. As the woman who'd birthed and raised him, she should have known better.

MiM but sometimes he wished she'd have known better.

Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Hold back frost, stare at Bunny's back. Repeat. Accidentally misfire, frost your fingers together, then shake them out frantically while cursing 'cause the tight sheathe of ice pinches.

"Should do something about that power bleed. S'not safe." Jack blinks, Bunny's voice is level, even, but Jack's hackles rise. Not safe? Of course Jack isn't safe. He's winter, he's cold; he could be death and barrenness as easily as he was snow days and fun, if he chose. But Jack was Jack and there was no choice, not really, and didn't Bunny know that? Jack's chest hurts familiarly at the lack of good faith, but in rage or pain he couldn't say.

"I'm not dangerous." Lies lies lies, and the thickness in Jack's voice speaks true, but Bunny only shrugs, shoulder moving in an upward jolt, not hearing or not caring.

"You could spend some time on it, not that you do anything but kick around here all day, right?" Bunny's tone is even, or perhaps it's condescending, Jack doesn't know, because he hurts inside, because he's doing much more than 'kicking around here,' and shouldn't Bunny be grateful? Shouldn't that matter? No, it shouldn't, it doesn't, and Jack isn't here to be patted on the back. So instead of speaking, Jack simply shrugs back, well aware Bunny can't see him with his back still turned and returns to work, abandoning his currently dug hole for a couple of moments until it defrosts. Jack bites his tongue to help keep himself silent, chomping through the last bit of the ice as he does, the final cool droplets sliding down his throat. He's still thirsty, but he's afraid to stand again, because if he does he might run, but he needs to be here right now and can't leave, not yet.

"You should at least be out looking for more believers. You need them now, being Oathed n' all." Bunny says over an hour later, now facing Jack from three rows away. Jack's fingers clench in the soil involuntarily, but he's warmed up enough that the frost that comes is too weak to last more than a second before fading back to moisture.

"I'm doing fine, longears. No need to worry about the resident popsicle." Not this, anything but this, just leave it alone Bunny, leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone...

"If yeh wanna fade, that's your choice mate, sounds like you don't care to me. You waited so long for this though, just seems a waste." The twist of Jack's lips is bitter, he knows as he replies.

"Can wait a little longer then, can't I? I'm only kicking about here all day right? Not off spending myself frivolously on snowstorms or anything." The sarcasm is obvious, and Jack catches the furrow of a frown appear on Bunny's face. Good, remind him that Jack has claws, too.

"You say it like you don't think you've earned them. The believers, I mean." The word tumble into the air between them with all the discordance of a cat on a keyboard.

Despite that, the silence after they are spoken is nearly deafening.

Jack breathes around the pain of the nerve Bunny's just hit; tries to keep his head down, presumably to focus on his work, mostly to keep Bunny from reading his far too open face. He can't stop himself peeking though, and Bunny is staring at him, intent and unnerving, his expression unrecognizable. Jack had intended not to reply, but he can't stop the words that bubble to his mouth despite the tightness in his throat that turns his voice rough.

"I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, _Easters..._ You tell me what I've earned." Hurt as they do to speak, the words catch Bunny exactly as Jack hoped they would; right in centre mass like a fatal wound, and the other male honestly, physically flinches. Spectacular double edge sword that, considering Jack feels somewhat like flinching too. Steadying his hands as best he can, Jack pats down the soil over another seed, unwaveringly continuing on with his work. Only cowards ran, and Jack has danced cheek to cheek with the Nightmare King himself, what fear does he have of an oversized Lagomorph?

Bunny stares at Jack for another long moment, the weight of his gaze damning, before grunting and returning for work. For hours there is no talk, no sounds but the tilling of earth and the shuffling of bodies in the dirt. They retire at sunset as usual, and this time Bunny again offers the washbasin, albeit with the kind of hesitation you'd use to offer a handshake to a leper. Jack almost wants to tell him to fornicate with himself in multiple creative ways just on general principle, but the thought of clean, none-lake water to wash in is too tempting.

This time, Bunny offers a bar of soap as well, and as awkward as it is to hunch over the washbowl trying to contain the suds, feeling those jaded green eyes on his back, Jack can still spare a second to luxuriate in the feeling of being cleaner then he has been in days. It's not a perfect job, just hands, face and neck really, as he's far too modest to even consider removing the filthy hoodie, but at times something is far better than nothing, after all. His clothes are still a lost cause, but he doesn't itch at all, at least for the next couple of days. Still, every day he returns. Jack's a slow learner after all, and this lesson hasn't sunk in yet.

If ever it will have the chance, 'cause heaven knows Jack's exactly the kind to poke at his bruises, too.


	3. First to Last, Best to Worst

The boy shows up again the next day as usual, and Aster isn't sure whether he's impressed or mystified. Truth be told, with every moment they spend together Aster is starting to see that the kid has layers. Layers upon layers upon layers; like sedimentary rocks. Aster can't help but wonder at how much friction it will take until he can wear away enough to see exactly what Jack Frost is made of. It's a curious sensation, this desire for knowledge, for _knowing_, but Aster was a scholar before he'd even been anything else, and while that life is far behind him the past has hooks that dig deep and never quite let go.

So Aster wonders and he ponders, and he watches the boy surreptitiously from the corner of his eye as they work. The boy is tense, taut, holding himself like he's bound by invisible wires. It's nothing like the way he normally moves; loose and easy with the casual confidence of someone who knows where all their limbs are and exactly how each one moves. The suspicious creeps into Aster's skull, multiplied by the quietly uttered oath Jack lets slip when his frost sneaks away from him to coat a small patch of damp earth. It's not enough to do damage, not near enough, but the boy's face shutters even further, lips pinched so tight they're white and bloodless. He's holding back, Aster realizes, but it should not be that difficult, that _painful _to do so. It wasn't before; Aster recalls their handful of meetings prior to Jack's Guardianship rather clearly. The boy had always appeared carefree, no, almost careless, yet always, always in control. Now though, the boy struggles against himself, fighting hard and losing ground, his own physical exhaustion the only thing allowing his iron will to win. It wasn't right, wasn't the natural way of things, and the more time that Jack spent here with Aster and not out working with his new power, the longer he'd go on fighting and struggling. The fact that he didn't appear to be worried about his believers troubles Aster too. Perhaps it was different for Jack, who'd gone without for so long and was so powerful even alone, but the Oath's required their dues and the sooner he got himself more exposure, the better off he'd be.

Making a decision, Aster nods to himself, sharply. Standing suddenly, he claps his hands onto his thighs to scrub the mud from his fingers, not particularly caring is the motion smears it into the fur on his legs. He plods over to Jack, who's either deliberately ignoring his approach or is so absorbed in his reigning in his magic that he honestly didn't notice. Aster already had his bet placed on which one it was, too.

"Think that's enough of that for today, yeah?" Aster's voice wasn't particularly loud, even in the silence. That didn't stop it from startling the boy so badly that his ice spun out of control, coating a good patch of the ground in a fine layer of trailing frost, right up to Aster's toes and curling around Jack's knees. The boy cursed loudly and harshly, eyes darting wildly up to meet Aster's, the panic evident. Well, Aster was right, it was the latter. Too bad he couldn't owe himself money. The boy was obviously keyed right up, probably ready to do something ridiculous like apologize or defend himself. Aster hated apologies, they were a waste of time and useless to boot, as so few people seldom meant them. Nor did Aster want to watch the boy fly into a tirade against' accusations he hadn't made. It didn't sit well with Aster that Jack had automatically come to expect an attack from him, but to be honest Aster was usually expecting and attack from Jack first. Attention seeking though they may have been, Jack had long been going out of his to target the Pooka for increasingly more malicious and elaborate pranks over the course of their acquaintance. Things may have leveled off into a hesitant trust after Pitch, but Aster would never forget Easter '68, or everything else that led up to that point. He'd given as good as he'd got though, usually, so doubtless Jack had his axes to grind as well. He'd have to look into burying those hatchets at some point, but for now he had bigger concerns.

"Jumpy, mate?" Apparently, provoking the kid was the name of the game, whether he'd planned it or not. Aster was many things; unfortunately socially awkward was definitely one of them, if evidenced by Jack's petulant scowl.

"Funny, 'Roo. Whaddya want?" Jack's tone was the perfect mix of bored and sullen, which usually drove Aster around the bend. Doubtlessly why the boy had chosen to use it, and knowing this allowed Aster to take a deep, calming breath before continuing.

"That backlash is getting worse, bucko. Y'need to get it under wraps, pronto." Jack's scowl deepened further, turning his usually attractive face ugly with it.

"And who are you to make me? My mother's dead I'll have you know, don't need great big fuzzy busybody over my shoulder." Jack's words were deliberately harsh, falling between them like pointy little needles. Aster shrugged it off again, having expected the resistance.

"You're right there kid, I ain't yer mum. Just wondering how long you'll let it go. Til you hurt someone, perhaps? Til one of your little games with your believers ends badly? Can you afford that, Jack Frost?" Jack had frozen solid, no pun intended, upon hearing Aster's words. The Pooka sighed internally, he hadn't intended to be a _total _asshole about it, but the kid needed the push, he needed to _listen_ and understand that things weren't going to magically get better just because they ignored them. Even if ignoring the unpleasant things were a large part of Jack's favored coping mechanisms, in a situation like this is could very well end in tragedy, and Aster refused to allow it when he knew Jack could be coerced into hearing the truth. The boy's face was still downcast, longish bangs throwing shadows over his eyes, but Aster could see Jack's mouth working, like he was searching for a response.

Or maybe trying not to cry. Please MiM, don't let it be the latter, Aster was absolute shit as handling someone else tears. His own were bad enough, _thankyouverymuch._ And uncomfortable silence settled between them, Aster still looming over Jack, casting him further into shadows, hands on his hips. Jack knelt in the dirt, filthy and damp and still. When he finally spoke, there was a broken-glass quality to his voice, but he didn't sound on the verge of tears, so Aster counted it a win.

"So tell me genius, the fuck do I do about it?"

"You could knock off yer little one-man army mindset and let me lend a paw." Jack snorted a little, his lip curling visibly.

"And how do you propose that, Einstein?" Aster couldn't help the slight grin that made his lips twitch, although Jack couldn't see it. Had the boy right where he wanted him

"Come with me and I'll show you." After a moment's pause, the boy nodded and stood to follow, gathering his staff as he did so. Aster turned and led him from the field, listening for the nearly silent steps behind him to ensure the boy was following. Over a couple of hills and around a bend was what Aster affectionately called the training grounds, the place where he tested new weapons, honing his throwing skills, and performed his katas every morning. The location was set away form anything that could be easily destroyed, and the ground was nothing but hard packed dirt with a few stumps set out as 'dummies' for target practice. It was there that he led the boy, standing him in front of a cluster of three at a medium distance, then situation himself behind the kid and off to the side out of the blast radius.

"Ok, we do this same as I learned to throw, yeah? For starters, hit the stumps one at a time with some frost. We can focus on the rest later." The scowl had returned to Jack's face at Aster's words.

"Hit the stump? Hell, patronizing much?" Jack spat his words, before brandishing his staff and taking casual aim. The frost burst forth in a violent rush, splaying out in all directions. The ice slammed into all three stumps at once, instantly turning them into large stalagmites rising from the frozen ground. The frost spread in a wide 'V,' coating the ground from Jack's feet to nearly a metre past the stumps themselves, and branching to the side almost in line with where Aster stood. Dumbstruck, Jack gaped at the wanton destruction he'd unknowingly caused; and Aster didn't miss the boys hands beginning to tremble a little in what was likely honest _fear_ on the wood of his staff. Tapping his foot, Aster coaxed the warmth of his power into the soil and the air, surrounding the stumps and quickly melting the ice until, a couple minutes later, nothing but wet soil remained, despite the training stumps looking a bit worse for wear.

"So, little bit gentler touch this time, I think. Well? What you waiting for, Easter? Let's get on with it." Jack's mouth snapped shut, and his grip tightened, smoothing out the shaking of his hands as his gaze narrowed in focus. With a quick, precise motion, the frost flowed again, no less violent but more controlled. All three stumps froze again, but the attack was more focused, the cone of affected area significantly narrower than before. Another tap to melt the ice, another gentle encouragement, or at least as gentle as Aster could manage, and they were off a third time. And a fourth, then a fifth. By the twelfth time, the stumps had to be abandoned for new ones. Jack seemed slightly off-put by the destroyed section, but Aster shrugged it off, refusing to explain that it was fine, it was no worse then he'd done himself over the years; just as Jack was likely ignoring the urge to apologize or something stupid. This was training, things got broken. It was better here than out there, where one wrong move could injure an innocent bystander, or cause irreparable damage to something that wasn't a hunk of wood in the ground.

By the time they'd demolished another set of stumps, Jack had improved enough to be able to hit a single target, although he was still throwing far more power than needed into each attack. The constant drain was taking its toll though; Aster could tell Jack was nearing his limit, if not there already.

"Right, let's call it there then. Pick up tomorrow after some planting, yeah?" Aster watched as Jack exhaled sharply, turning to face him then sagging a bit in place with his exhaustion, leaning heavily on his staff.

"So what's the point? How's this going to help? I mean, unless we all get attacked by evil stump creatures from outer space..." Aster ignored the sarcasm, mildly impressed that the boy had held his tongue this long.

"Can't drink the ocean through a straw, mate. Start simple, then work up to the harder displays of control." Jack blinked at Aster, eyes wide with confusion.

"Can't drink the... Man, does that even make sense? Who taught you to speak 'normal person,' cause you paid them too much, you definitely need to get a re...fund..."

Jack swayed suddenly, dangerously, eyes going blank and unfocused and skin blanching so white he seemed nearly translucent. For a moment Jack seemed to teeter in place, before pitching forward to thump face-first onto the damp ground, staff clattering down beside him a second later. Aster stared, completely stunned, at the winter spirit lying splayed out on his stomach like a murder victim.

"Aw, _HELL..._"

And the day had been going so nicely, too.


	4. Ash to Ash, Blessed to Cursed

So I've had a lot of people comment that Bunny's being mean to Jack, and the fact of the matter is that yeah, he is. These are two characters who've done nothing other than butt heads for decades, at least. Now that they find themselves in something of a forced truce, they have no idea how to deal with the other. They both have preconceived notions, they both have biases and prejudices against each other, and they both have rather epic amounts of baggage on top of all that. Don't worry, Jack will give as good as he gets, but truthfully speaking this is not a fluff fic like my Heart(h) verse, or my Homework verse. This will get worse before it gets better, if it in fact gets better at all. If this is troubling, then this might not be the story for you.

Hopefully I haven't scared too many people away, but I felt it needed to be addressed just due to the number of comments I'm receiving in this vein. Those of you still interested, thanks, and I'll try not to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter.

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Jack wakes up with a headache. A serious, oh-MiM-kill-me-now-I-don't-want-to-live-anymore-an d-give-all-my-stuff-to-BabyTooth-when-I'm-gone, pounding, resonating, pulsating migraine. Jack feels like death frozen over, and as an actual dead guy that's totally saying something. Rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the cool pillow, Jack groans a bit as the motion makes the throbbing in his skull increase. Honestly, it's feels like even his hair hurts. Or his eyelashes. Perhaps even his toenails, if that's possible. He wonders vaguely if this is what a hangover feels like, having never had one for the comparison, and if it is, well, he's done good avoiding this shit for three whole centuries plus. On top of the pain, his mouth feels stuffed with cotton, his eyes are gritty and dry despite being closed, and he has about as much strength at his disposal as a baby duckling.

Also, he realizes with the fuzziness of someone in deep pain and still half asleep, he doesn't have a proper bed, only catching quick catnaps up trees or in snow banks when he'd depleted his power reserve enough to make it absolutely necessary, which hasn't happened too often in his life so far. In fact, whatever he'd done must have been a doozy to lay him up like this. In a bed. Which wasn't his, because he didn't have one. So, someone somewhere had taken him to bed. Their bed. Were they here with him? Jack flops first one arm out to the side, then the other, flailing about with absolutely zero coordination for another body. He doesn't' find one, but he doesn't find the edge of the bed either, so maybe they were here, but out of arms reach. Jack tries to listen for breathing, but doesn't hear anything. So he's alone. Unless they don't breathe. Jack doesn't breathe all the time, so he supposes it's possible. He tries to crack an eye open, but the bit of light that shines through feels like it's stabbing his eyeball, so he makes a sound that totally isn't an unmanly whimper and yanks the quilt he's tangled in up over his head and resolves to sleep some more, possible bed partner be damned.

Wait, he's still dressed right?

A quick fumble answers that question in the affirmative, and Jack relaxes again with the intent to slip into slumber again. Not that he's a prude or anything, but he'd at least like to remember his first time so he could write a thank you card or something, or a fruit basket maybe if they'd earned it. Hey, maybe Sandy will visit and there will be little sand bananas dancing above his head...

Jack wakes again feeling slightly less abysmal, but with no further ideas as to where he might be. He has the strength now to sit up, although he still feels drained. Truth be told he'd never been this tired before, never exerted himself to the point where he was this disoriented and uncomfortable after. Not even after the run-in with Pitch a few weeks ago... Admittedly though he was still recovering from the power use that altercation, and Bunny putting him through his paces, both in the garden and on the so-called training field certainly hadn't helped...

Oh hell, _Bunny._ Suddenly, Jack remembers everything, with an agonizing clarity that has him thumping back onto the bed with a groan of frustration. Bunny. The root of all Jack's problems of late. Bunny with his shitty attitude and his eternal sour mood and his stupid fur and stupid rabbit-nose and long dumb ears and ridiculous Aussie accent. Jack groaned again, scrubbing at his face with his hands, which, he noticed belatedly were still grimy with topsoil. Here he was, still weak from the overusing his powers, control all shot to hell despite the work he'd been forced to put in, and more than likely dehydrated by the combination of his body fighting to temperature regulate in the warmth of the Warren combined with the hard labour he'd been doing for so many days. Could nothing in this day (evening, night, whatever) get any worse?

"Ya whine like an infant Frost. Couple glasses o' water and you'll be back on those grubby little feet o' yers in no time."

Y'know, one of these days, Jack will learn that asking himself those sorts of rhetorical questions does nothing but court trouble. That day is not today however, obviously.

"Glass ain't good enough; bring a bucket. I'll drink what I want, and drown myself in the rest." Jack's voice was hoarse from disuse, cracking once or twice during the sentence. The thought puts a frown on Jack's face, the line furrowing between his brows. How long had he been under, dozing away blissfully unaware in Bunny's nest? Were his clothes covered in Pooka fur now? Do giant lagomorphs get fleas? He is still dressed, right? Which is a dumb questions, because Jack can feel his hood bunched up uncomfortable under his neck. He'd adjust it, but he feels too lazy right now. Jack is staring dully at the ceiling of what looks to be a hollowed-out room underground, but not far enough underground that a window was impossible, although it was high up on the wall. The light had a certain golden quality to it that said it was either rising or setting, but Jack couldn't tell which. So, evening or morning then. How many days after his collapse he couldn't know unless he asked Bunny.

Bunny. _Hellfires and damnation, _the rabbit must've scraped him up outta the dirt and carried him to bed like a Disney princess or something. Jack couldn't help but frost over a bit at the shame; gearing up for some sort of damsel comment as Bunny's footsteps approached the edge of what Jack knew now was probably his nest. Sure enough, Bunny's head appeared in Jack's field of vision, upside down and mouth twisted into what could've been either a scowl or really bad constipation, who knew. There was a soft thud as the bucket was set of the Jack's left on the edge of the cushioned depression that made up Bunny's nest. Turning his head to look out of the corner of his eye, Jack recognized it as the same bucket, or at least very similar, to the one Bunny used for drinking while working.

"Gimme." Jack grumbled, slowly rolling over toward the blessed source of water. It took a moment to get his legs beneath himself and push to his hands and knees, but Bunny didn't move to help and Jack was grateful. He continued to hover like a concerned helicopter, but Jack could forgive him that all things considered. He had just spent the night swooned unconscious in the dude's bed, the Pooka was probably hoping fervently for anything but a repeat performance. Shuffling on all fours in a way that was effective but far from dignified, Jack made his way up the side of the shallow cubby to where the live-giving liquid was waiting. Jack had barely scaled the edge before he was face first over the bucket, scooping the cool drink into the mouth with his hands. The first touch of waiter to his parched lips and tongue cause Jack to moan, deep and low with the sensation of it, a balm to the horrific thirst he'd been fighting back so long he'd stopped recognizing it for what it was. When scooping handfuls into his mouth proved to be less effective than Jack desired, he forwent the use of his cupped hand and stuck his whole face in, gulping water in great, heaving draughts. When his immediate thirst had slaked, Jack kept to his earlier word, shoving his whole head in the bucket to feel the coolness envelope him. The wetness against his overheated scalp was deliciously soothing, yet not enough. Pulling his head back, Jack ignored Bunny's confused spluttering, instead heaving the half-empty bucket up to overturn into above his head, the cold water sluicing down through already soaked hair, winding in little trails down over his neck and drenching his shirt and the waistband of his pants. The heavy blue cotton clung to him almost obscenely, sucking to his too-warm skin, the moistened fabric working to aid Jack in regulating his temperature. It would take a couple hours and another bucket likely, but he'd be recovered enough for his usual antics in no time.

"Well done mate, now half the nest is soaked. If I'd a known you were looking for a bath, I would've just chucked you into the pond." Bunny's cutting tone came through the haze of Jack's relief, immediately dampening his slowly blooming satisfaction. The scowl that came to Jack's face would've killed a man, surely.

"I'd have just frozen it on contact, jerkface. Also, you're the spring spirit, why don't you dry it out? You were melting my ice just fine earlier today." Bunny crowed his arms, glaring down at the sopping wet frost spirit with righteous indignation.

"That was yesterday, ya drongo, and honestly, I don't care a bit, you're the only one gonna be sleeping in it today."

Jack had about a dozen snarky responses planned, but they all dried up at those words. "What do you mean, I'm sleeping here? News flash buster, apparently I've already have my solid eight hour overnight nap, so I'm going to take this bucket, wander down to said pond, drink my bodyweight and then get lost until I forget how ugly your face is. Might take a while, don't panic if you don't see me." It wasn't hard to make his words drip with sarcasm. Jack was an eternal teenager; sarcasm was pretty much his official second language. Well, sarcasm and penguin; those adorable little things had a surprisingly dry, candid sense of humour Jack couldn't help but appreciate. Bunny however, didn't seem nearly as appreciate of Jack's sense of humour, if the angry twist of his lips was to be believed.

"Well boyo, it's like this. See, when a young, dumb bratty little bastard overdoes it on his mate's turf cause he's too stupid to take proper care of himself, his mate's obligated to make sure he's back in top shape. So you see, Little Jack..." and here, Bunny had started to lean forward, effectively looking of Jack who was still on his knees, wet hair slicked to his neck and eyelashes damp. "When a boy is dumb enough to do that, and his mate has to lose a whole day's worth of productivity taking care o' his sorry arse, it tends to put a rabbit into a mood. The right foul sort, as you can imagine. So here's how it's going to go. Yer gonna crawl right back in, to the nest _I gave up _so you could be comfortable. Yer gonna lay there like the good boy _North thinks you can be_ until you're over this little hiccup. Then yer gonna get that bony little arse of yours into a proper training regime until you figure out where your boundaries are, cause so help me MiM I ain't putting up with your inability to manage yourself again, _savvy?_" Stepping back a bit, Bunny surveyed Jack like he was a particularly interesting bit of dirt caught in his footpad. "So back into bed with yeh, today's for sleeping off your own stupidity." Bunny snatches up the bucket, turning towards the door that Jack has just noticed beyond the edge of the nest. He doesn't look back until he reaches it, pausing with one hand against the side of it, looking over his shoulder like an afterthought. "And, Jack? Don't even think about leaving. You couldn't outrace this Rabbit on a good day, and I've got your staff tucked away till you're well enough to use it."

With those words, Bunny finally ducks out of the room, his footfalls disappearing quickly, swallowed up by distance and the soft earthen floors of his home. Left behind, Jack remains where he is; muted by shock and kneeling in a drying puddle on the floor beside Bunny's bed. Jack stares at the empty doorway, ignoring the stinging heat of his eyes. It's obviously just the soreness of one who hasn't blinked enough, to Jack blinks plenty, rapidly, telling himself the wetness he's holding back is just good lubrication for gritty-feeling corneas. Boys don't cry, especially not over unmitigated bastards like the Easter Bunny.

Feeling both defiant and defeated in unison, Jack shuffles his way back into bed. While the drink and the dousing have helped, he's still a long way from repaired, perhaps longer then the cares to admit to. He pushes away the niggling sensation that Bunny is right, is probably even justified, because Jack has been taking care of himself for three damn centuries before Bunny even gave a thought to his sorry ass. Jack yanks the quilt up over himself, straight over his head and burrowing into it in a little tiny ball of pique. Bunny wants to take care of him? Jack knows what this is, and fuck the rabbit and his misplaced sense of guilt anyways. The Pooka had nothing to be guilty for, cause Jack can take care of himself, and he's gonna prove it.

Right after another nap, because his eyelids are heavy and the quilt is keeping the worst of the heat out, and Jack's own innate coolness combined with the wetness of his clothing is making his little cocoon far too comfortable to resist.

So Bunny though he could handle Jack Frost up in his face full time and win? Well, let him, he didn't know what he was getting into. By tomorrow he'd be begging for Jack to leave, probably for good.

One way or another, Jack would make sure of it.


	5. Will They Hold You To It

Sorry for the delay, real life has been somewhat overwhelming of late, and this chapter just didn't want to come on the rare occasions I did have the time to write. When it finally did though, it came in longer than any chapter yet, so hurrah for that at least! Enjoy, and thanks for your patience!

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"THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN'T EEEND! YES IT GOES ON AND ON MY FRIEEEEENDS! SOME PEOPLE STARTED SINGING IT NOT KNOWING WHAT IS WAAAS, AND THEY'LL CONTINUE SINGING IT FOREVER JUST BECAUSE THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN'T EEEND! YES IT GOES..."

The obnoxiously loud and off-key singing, if you could even call it that, cut off abruptly as Aster slammed the front door behind him. Stomping out to the field, Aster threw himself headfirst into his planting. Four days of looking after Jack's incapable arse, and what did he have to show for it? A _headache!_ A full-blown, pounding, throbbing, MiM-be-damned HEADACHE; caused no doubt by Jack's unending, infernal racket. Also the heavy metal tray Aster had taken to the head probably made its fair share of contribution; having been thrown by Jack in a fit of pique when Aster had _dared _to have the _audacity _to bring lunch to the boy's sickbed...

Oh. Wait. That would be _Aster's _bed the little wretch had taken up in, which did absolutely nothing butt lend to his bad mood, considering the crap amount of sleep he'd been subsisting on. Aster's burrow was a humble abode, and seldom used beyond his simple kitchen and his nestroom, where most of his homey touches had been focussed. Meaning, that Aster had been relegated to his own couch; an awful, overstuffed scarlet monstrosity gifted to him by North so many decades ago that only the ambient magic of the Warren had kept it from becoming a moth-eaten relic in a long-forgotten drawing room. So, every night, when Aster bunked down, he did so on the Crimson Beast, his over-long body spilling over the armrests at either end. More days then not Aster had awoken with his feet kicking into the dusty pianoforte that took up the opposite corner of the cramped little room. The instrument had also been a gift, and hadn't been tuned or even touched in so long that Aster was sure even looking at it funny would result in immediate collapse into a pile of kindling and wire.

Aster sighed, feeling the soothing repetition of planting winding his nerves down from bowstring-taught to merely tense. It was a bad situation all around. Jack was far more worn down then he'd let on. Perhaps even more then the egghead had realized himself. About eighty-percent of his days were still spent napping away in Aster's bed, snuggled so far down under the comforter that he nearly disappeared under its folds. To be honest, Aster hadn't quite realized how tiny Jack was until he'd seen him dwarfed inside his nest. Not that the nest wasn't quite large to begin with, Aster himself could've taken half a dozen lovers simultaneously to its depths without fearing a lack of space, but Jack, beneath the blankets was a frail, delicate thing. The kiss of his eyelashes like butterfly wings to his cheekbones, obscuring the faintest hint of freckles found there. Jack's fine-boned wrists and ankles gave way to diminutive hands and feet, almost doll-like in their porcelain perfection. The kid should have been clumsy and awkward, caught forever on the precipice of puberty; his voice deep but his face childlike. His knees and elbows were knobby like a young boy's, but his limbs were the elongated coltishness found after a growth spurt. Jack was an artist's dream; he should have been homely, but instead he was a study in contradictions, all soft edges and hard angles hodge-podged together with cheeky grins and an almost malicious touch to his sense of humour. At times, Aster wasn't sure if he wanted to kill the kid and bury him deep, or peel him up like a label off a soup can so he could touch the very bones of him.

Shaking his head with confusion, Aster decided to shrug off the thoughts of Jack for now and concentrate on his planting instead. Relishing the press of moist earth between his fingers and into the pads on his palm, Aster continued, feeling even more of his previous stress bleed away. The fields were coming along well; and despite what he'd told Jack about wasting time nursing him along, in truth Aster was still ahead of schedule. Even thought the boy had been struggling, first with learning a new skill and then with controlling his haywire magic, he'd accomplished far more in the past few weeks then Aster had thought possible. It was entirely certain at this point, that if the boy kept up with helping at this pace, Aster would not only catch up, but overshoot his targets for next Easter. He could come back with a bang, for sure. That is, assuming the daft brat would _let himself get better. _ Resigning himself to the never-ending procession of Jack-related thoughts, Aster sighed, letting the rhythm of his work soothe him as he pondered his unhappy houseguest. True, Jack was sleeping well, but the times he was awake he was surly, withdrawn and downright difficult to deal with. He shouted, cursed fit to offend most sailors, hollered abuse, threw anything in his immediate vicinity that might potentially cause harm to Aster's person and just in general was the biggest arsehole of a patient Aster had ever seen. Which, Aster might have been able to cope with if Jack was getting better and there was an end in sight, but he _wasn't. _ Probably because he refused to eat, or drink enough to properly rehydrate. Instead Jack would sip at the smallest amount of liquid possible to prevent himself from swooning like a virginal maiden and was abstaining from actual nutrition entirely. Already Aster could see the hollows of Jack's cheeks deepening, the jut of his hipbones under worn leather becoming more prominent.

The boy's body was already the scarcity of winter personified; much more and Aster feared they would lose him.

It was a stubborn persistent feared that had been niggling at him night and day since Aster had figured out exactly how sick the kid had been. When Aster had first tucked him into his nest after he'd fainted, he'd been shocked to see the motley collection of half-healed injuries, likely form the fiasco with Pitch. Injuries that, as an immortal should have long-healed, but hadn't, likely due to the fact that the boy was so run down that his overwhelmed system simply couldn't cope. The expenditure of energy on the practise grounds was the final straw in a steady downward decline. Aster had been trying to convince himself for the past few days that Jack wouldn't let it go that far, that the boy wasn't suicidal, simply stubborn and stupid with it. That the boy would cave to his hunger and restlessness soon enough and make steps to hasten is recovery, if only to escape from Aster's admittedly peevish company. Pooka's were known for their bullheaded tendencies; there was no way a, underfed little scamp of a child could possibly outdo the eons of practice Aster had put toward this particular trait. It seemed however that the boy was capable of holding out far longer then he'd anticipated, enough to make Aster wonder if fading away into nothing wasn't perhaps the boy's ultimate goal. Aster let his thoughts run backwards over their interactions the last few weeks, straight from the days leading up to Easter right through to the tray incident this morning, looking for anything telling, hoping that something would stick out enough to provide a clue to cracking Jack like a code breaker.

"_If yeh wanna fade, that's your choice mate, sounds like you don't care to me."_

Aster remembered the deliberately provocative statement. At the time he'd been poking the dragon with intent, trying to discern if the boy indeed didn't care, or if he perhaps just didn't understand the importance of managing his believers. Jack had been defensive, for sure, but it hadn't been the defensiveness of a person trying to cover the truth of a statement, more the defensiveness of the deeply offended. So no, Aster didn't think Jack was looking to just give up; not then, and not now. No, the boy definitely had something to prove, a point he was trying to make with his little tantrum here. Aster just had to figure out his game plan, and how to countermand it. Suddenly, it came back to him, the realization sending a jolt of shock own his spine, making his fur stand on end.

"_You say it like you don't think you've earned them. The believers, I mean."_

Aster remembered how silent Jack had been after that, how still.

Oh, MiM, that was it, wasn't it. Aster could suddenly see the whole picture, like he'd been staring at a half-solved jigsaw in the dark, and while the puzzle was still incomplete he'd at least found the light switch. He had forgotten, pushed the exchange aside because it reminded him of the moment he'd been walked through. He'd let it go to protect himself from his own pain, and had let slip from his mind what Jack has responded with, what he'd _said,_ to spare himself the discomfort of it.

"_I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, Easters... You tell me what I've earned." _

Aster's answer was right there, and had been there all along.

Cursing himself for seven kinds of a fool, Aster took off at a run toward his burrow. He was halfway to the nestroom when he stopped himself, realizing that he would accomplish nothing but mucking this all up if he simply charged in there without a proper course of action. It took only a moment of thinking before his feverishly whirling brain made its decisions. Aster stepped back outside just long enough to fetch Jack's staff from where he'd stashed it on the roof of the burrow, where he'd been banking on Jack simply not considering it a viable hiding place to work in his favour. Back in the kitchen, he ladled some porridge, tepid but probably more to Jack's tastes then piping hot, into a bowl. He forwent the tray this time, hoping to minimize the amount of ammo he was providing the teenager with, instead simply sticking the spoon into the bowl and carrying it in hand along with the staff down the hall. Upon entering, Aster found Jack fast asleep, something which was becoming a regular site as the boy sought to conserve much-needed energy. Really though, the silence along was a dead giveaway that the boy had conked out again, as every waking moment was spent being as loud and obnoxious as possible.

Of course, for Aster's purposes now, this just wouldn't do. So setting down both bowl and staff on the floor beyond the edge of the nest and therefore, due to the sloping sides, out of Jack's line of site, Aster made his way down until he was standing over the reclined form, ready to action. Then without further ado, Aster let out a triumphant battle-cry as he reached down and yanked the blanket clean off the dozing youth.

The result was Jack making a noise between a squeak and a howl, flailing about into an upright position, hands scrabbling at his sides for the missing blanket, or possibly a weapon. It took the boy's sleep-addled mind a few moments to realize that he was now nose-to-furry-knee with his attacker. Looking down at Jack as the boy looked up, blinking his wide blue eyes up almost dumbly in confusion, Aster couldn't help but think that the kid was positively adorable when he wasn't been a soul-destroying little bastard. Carefully stepping away from the volatile male, Aster worked his way back until he was a more appropriate two feet of personal space away from the still-drowsy boy. He debated tossing the blanket aside, but figured that, in the event of a violent outburst, it could be used as a defensive item.

"Rise and shine Jackie-o, we have a lot of get-bettering to do today, if'n you please!"

Looking to be in total shock and awe, Jack's mouth opened as if to speak, then closed, and then opened again to emit a groan, before the boy planted his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes. Aster couldn't help but notice how grubby they were. Clearly a bath would be required at some point; a proper one, not a quick splash-down in the washbowl. Also, Aster thought, looking at the muddy cuffs of Jack's once-blue hoodie, laundry would be required as well. Aster carefully suppressed the shudder at the thought of having another filthy, grimy body dirtying up his personal tub, and then later another person's clothes, including _unmentionables _being scrubbed in the same. At this point, he was committed; it was a necessary evil, and Aster could just douse the thing in bleach water after, if required.

"The fuck you want, Bunny?" Aster's attention snapped back onto Jack as they boy grumbled at him, face still cradled in his palms. He looked a fright, skin so pale he was nearly translucent, exhaustion seeping from every pore. The kid was in a poor way, and there was only one thing to do.

"I got a proposition for you mate you ready to listen?" Finally lifting his head, Jack favoured Aster with a pointed glare, blue eyes only enhanced by the dark smudges beneath.

"I'm listening of you talk fast, else I'm going back to bed."

"Right, well then, here you go." With a flourish, Aster stretched an arm to where the staff had been left, and dropped it into Jack's lap. The boy sat, stunned into silence for a moment, before carefully taking the worn wood into hand. Aster had to fight hard not to physically react when, instead of frost blooming across the entire surface as usual, the swirling patterns barely even manifested beneath Jack's hands before they melting in moderate heat of the air. Jack noticed immediately of course, and couldn't quite hold back his flinch. It didn't stop him from hugging the staff to his chest like a lost child, and Aster felt a curl of guilt in his stomach, wondering if he hadn't inadvertently made things worse by trying to endure the child stayed put.

"So, there you go boyo, got your staff back. Like you said this morning, you don't need me, or my help, so you can just get right on moving then, can't you." Jack stared at Aster for a moment, chapped lips slightly parted, like he couldn't quite comprehend what Aster was saying. Sensing it was the right thing to do, Aster pushed a bit harder searching for a response. "So, you'll be vacating soon then, yes?" It took the boy a moment to respond, like the words were getting lost somewhere between his brain and those thin, chapped lips.

"Yeah, yeah I'll get gone, no problem." The statement wasn't as confident as Jack was obviously trying to make it, but Aster ignored the hesitation, carrying forward instead.

"Well that's all roses there then, ain't it. Tell you what though, you leave now, you don't come back. If you don't need my help, then I certainly don't need yours." At least, Aster got the reaction he'd been seeking. Jack suddenly straightened, probably would have leapt to his feet if he'd had the strength to do so.

"You can't! You can't make me! I need to be here!"

"Because you feel guilty about this past Easter?" Jack stopped abruptly, any possible comeback dying in his throat. Aster stared at him, into this wide eyes, ignoring the suddenly wetness of them. The boy's lips trembled a bit, and for a moment Aster thought he might cry, but Jack pulled himself together, responding in a voice that was steadier then Aster had expected.

"Yeah, well you only helped me because you felt bad about the _three centuries I spent alone,_ asshole." Steadier, and far more vicious. Who'd have thought that the Guardian of Fun would be such an expert at pointed verbal attacks?

Aster, that's who, having been subjected to them enough in the past while to know what was coming, and had, in fact, been counting on it, despite the surge of guilt that welled up at the truth of it.

"You're absolutely spot on their, mate. So he's the deal; you buck up, start taking care of yourself. Yeh get yer arse out of the sickbed and back onto that training field. You learn how to handle yourself, how to take care of yourself, properly, none of this half-arsed horseshit you've been doing, and if you do well enough, then I let you help in the fields." Here Aster crouched down, lowering himself to Jack's level so he could meet his eyes head-on, faces only a foot apart. "You see, Jackie, I figured it out. I know yeh feel bad, and that's fine. You should; we needed you, and you weren't there. We trusted you, and whether you meant to or not you broke that trust. But I know that yer not the only one who feels bad, who needs to pay penance to feel better. So, let's even it up then, yeah? No more of these histrionics, you're only hurting yourself."

Jack looked away, unable to hold Aster's gaze. Aster remained crouched, letting the quiet stretch one for a good five minutes. When jack didn't appear ready to speak, Aster sighed, standing to leave the boy to think. He'd barely turned his back when Jack's quiet voice stopped him.

"Wait." Aster turned around again, gazing down at the huddled form of the teen in his bed. "Wait, Bunny. I'll do it." Bunny arched an eyebrow.

"And you'll stick to your word." Instantly the fire returned, Jack's head whipping up and all traces of his easy submission disappearing.

"I said I would, didn't I? What, you want a contract in blood?" Aster couldn't help the tight smile that appeared at Jack's passion.

"Naw, yer word'll do." Jack nodded then, mouth pressed into a tight line, obviously more a grudging agreement than anything, but Aster figured it was better an understanding then they'd had yet so far, and was unwilling to push any further. Jack's compliance secured, Aster figured it was time to test this limits of the newfound truce. "Fantastic. Now then, step one. Food." Aster reached over the edge of the nest again, finding the bowl of porridge. He then plonked himself down unceremoniously beside the boy's hip, hefting a hearty spoonful in the hand not holding the bowl. "Well, c'mon now Jackie! Open wide for the choo choo train!" Eyes glowing with unholy glee, Aster couldn't help but goad the boy, just a little bit, if only in payback for the last few days' worth of annoyance. Jack's responding glower may have been absolutely poisonous, but the following vicious grin was even more terrifying, because Aster knew what was coming.

"I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES; ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES, YES ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES..."

"DAMMIT JACK FROST!" Aster hollered, dropping the bowl and spoon into Jack's lap as the rushed to make a tactical retreat from the killzone, tripping twice on the blanket as he went. He bolted for the door, turning back at the last moment. "And eat the damned porridge!" Jack saluted him sarcastically as Aster made to leave.

"Oh captain, my captain!" Jack's reply as Aster slipped out the door still had the biting cruelty to it that had been characterizing their interactions for the last few days, but Aster had confidence that, if relations between them didn't get any better, they at least had some common ground now that could help them from getting worse.

Now, the next move was in Jack's hands. Aster could do nothing but wait, and possibly hope that, if Jack decided to continue lashing out verbally, he'd stop singing at a volume usually reserved for thrash metal concerts, and go back to reciting dirty limericks. Those at least Aster had found somewhat amusing.

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For those curious, youtube the following:

The Song That Doesn't End (You will probably find the end credits for a show called Lamb Chop's Play Along, which was a staple of my childhood.)

The Song That Gets On Everybody's Nerves (great for road trips with your parents!)


	6. Have You Done Enough

Ah, sorry for all the delays! Real life has been somewhat overwhelming, as of late. Not to mention I was sidetracked with anew multichapter, totally and accident FYI, plus I have a third in the works.

So yes, more fic is coming, In the meantime, enjoy.

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Jack stared angrily; gaze powered by the force of a thousand fiery suns worth of riotous fury. Jack glared with all his might, like his nemesis could be cowed by nothing but sheer force of will alone. Jack mentally threw little daggers of hate with his eyeballs, in the futile hopes of defeating this most heinous of foe from a distance.

Before him, the bathtub sat innocently and unperturbed by the loathing being projected at it, steam curling in lazy wisps off the placid surface. To anyone else, the tub might look inviting, tempting, relaxing. To Jack it looked like a man-sized torture device. Or, well, Pooka sized, to be honest you could probably fit three of Jack in there without touching either the sides or each other. Huffing in frustration, Jack spun around, stalking across the bathing room to the large mirror. Mirrors and Jack had a strange relationship. For most of his immortal life, mirrors were nothing but a patch of smooth ice, or perhaps a bit of still water. It wasn't until mankind had begun to build their cities from glass and steel as opposed to wood and brick that Jack had seen his first proper mirror. The smooth surface had intrigued him, as had the face staring back at him, Previously Jack had only had a vague idea of what he looked like; thin face, blue eyes, white hair. Seeing himself with crystal clarity for the first time and been both fascinating, and a little horrifying. After that the sight of his own face had always set Jack a bit on edge. He avoided his reflection in shop windows, and made scarce if he somehow encountered a mirror. Now though, standing in front of the wall-mounted full length, Jack found himself fighting the urge to look. He didn't fight long though, and, carefully propping his staff against the wall, gave in to the urge and began to strip, dumping his filthy clothes in an untidy heap on the floor to his left. He stood there still as death; eyes closed for a full ten-count, before he took a deep breath and opened them.

The boy in the mirror is more than skinny, he is frail. He's lost weight; he knows he has, because not only has he gone off of eating, it's begun to show on his delicate frame, which was always narrow but now looks emaciated. He's so underfed that his stomach is nearly concave, his ass so flat there is no delineation between lower back and upper thigh. The jut of collarbones is pronounced, every rib is accounted for under too-thin skin, and his shoulder blades stick out like bony wings. It's worse than that though, and Jack can't blame it all on his recent fasting and illness, poor genetics have to be blamed at some point. Looking at himself like this, Jack can see that he's all arm and leg and neck, like some kind of pale, malformed Giraffe. Comparatively, his knees and elbows are massive; knobby, ugly things that he never grew into. His hands and feet are sharp, awkward, with nails ragged from running barefoot or habitual biting. As for his face; well, narrow is perhaps being generous, pointy would probably be better, especially now, when his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut and his eyes, once believed to be his best feature, are sunken and so heavily shadowed they looked bruised. Jack's mouth is too thin and narrow for even masculine beauty, his ears stick out like beacons and his hair is a lost cause, the wind forever tugging it into a tangled mop.

Yeah, Jack's a stunner, all right. At least his teeth are good, as Tooth and her fairies are so fond of pointing out.

Scowling, Jack turns away from the mirror, disappointed as always. More often than not, now that he had his memories back, Jack found himself missing the boy he'd been, with the warm brown eyes and chocolate hair. That boy had looked softer, approachable. That boy had all the time in the world to grow into gangly limbs, to master and take ownership of his body, as opposed to being perpetually stuck being ruled by it. Mostly though, that boy had a family, people to care for his and nurture him that weren't overgrown lagomorphs with shitty attitudes. If it wasn't for the fact that Jack's pale skin was nearly as grey at Pitch's in some places with ground-in dirt, he'd had said a nice big FUCK-YOU to Bunny's bathing edict and made a break for the outside world, deal be damned.

Which was a nice thought, but honestly, Jack was starting to smell himself, and it wasn't pretty. Not to mention that, while he'd never admit to it, even under duress, Jack didn't believe he'd even have the strength to fly away right now. In fact, he'd had to lean so heavily on his staff just to walk to the bathroom without being carried that Jack was sure Bunny had figured it out. Why the other spirit hadn't said anything though, Jack didn't know. Although, being mollycoddled the whole way would have been worse, so Jack was grudgingly grateful that his fellow Guardian had kept his mouth shut.

Without his staff, Jack could feel himself sway a bit in place, sore muscles slowly protesting the effort required to keep him upright and in motion. Jack threw another glare at the bathtub, hating it's very existence but knowing he was going to cave and get in anyway, if only to no longer be vertical. It's not that Jack has some weird kind of aquaphobia or anything, it's just that submersion in water of more than just his feet to the ankles, or hands to the elbow tended to remind him of the icy-cold shock of hitting the water, punching the air out of him and wrapping steel bands around his lungs until everything had gone black, limbs that had been jerking with knife-like pains stilling as the last vestiges of life had slipped away. Jack knew now that he'd been gone within a couple of minutes, but in all his terrified recollections, those moments last hours. While he'd never regret the sacrifice he'd made for his sister, Jack hasn't been wildly crazy about baths since he opened that memory box and relived the experience, thank you very much.

Biting the bullet, Jack carefully eased himself down into the tub, which was submerged in the floor like a personal-sized swimming pool. The water wasn't nearly as hot as Bunny undoubtedly liked it and had cooled a bit further during Jack's introspection, but it was still warm enough that Jack couldn't quite suppress a moan cause by pure temperature sensation. Residual nerves dropped the water temp another couple degrees, but without his staff and as weak as he was, Jack knew the water didn't stand a chance of icing. The extent of the weakness in him was worrisome to think of, and exacerbated by sitting in a puddle of death, but Jack pushed the anxiety aside, forcing himself to relax into it instead. Tremors of lingering fear still slithered along the back of Jack's neck, but he ignored them, instead focussing on working the provided bar of soap into a rich, lavender-scented lather. Jack work hurriedly, racing against his discomfort, but also being as thorough as possible, knowing that being properly clean would be a luxury unheard of once he returned for good to Burgess, where the only bath available would be the pond he'd drowned in, which was a big fat NO. Also, now that he had believers, bathing in public might not be as acceptable as it once had been. Assuming course, he didn't just freeze the water solid, as per usual.

Damn drowning death. Jack gave it a 0/10; would not recommend to others. Gradually though, Jack began to relax a bit, aided by the fact that he was easily tall enough, even short as he was to stand up and keep his head clear above water. Soon, he'd calmed enough to be able to enjoy the pleasure of a warm bath, the feeling of sloughing off layers of dirt and grime to be clean again. After so long, the experience was nearly sensual, and Jack could help making a soft noise of appreciation for the sensation.

"Well lookit that, there is in fact a winter sprite hidden under all that muck." Jack yelped, startled by Bunny's sudden nearness, throwing himself to the other side of the bath and spinning to put his back to the opposite edge, arms gripping the sides to lever himself out in a jiffy if needed, his shock cooling the water even further until it was barely tepid. Glaring up at the other man, Jack bared his teeth with something close to a snarl, hoping to convey his absolute displeasure at the surprise entrance. For his part, Bunny just raised one eyebrow in response. It was then that Jack noticed his hoodie and pants thrown over one furry arm.

"Hey, where you making off with those, I'm going to need them in a minute!" Bunny blinked a moment, as if confused.

"These things? Frostbite, there's more dirt on them that fabric in them, they need a proper scrub. Once you're done splashing about, I'll be draining and refilling it for laundry. They'll be clean and dry by sunup."

"And what am I supposed to do until then genius? Wander about naked like you? Oh wait, some of us don't have a built-in fur coat to hide our pride and joy." Jack sunk lower into the water, letting the liquid come right up to his chin, hoping that the soap suds would help with hiding said 'pride and joy' for the extent of the conversation. If Jack had been expecting Bunny to be embarrassed by the conversation, he was sorely disappointed when the other reacted only with amusement.

"Please kid, ain't nothing you've got that I don't, except probably bigger and better on me, naturally." Bunny's tone was casual, but with a wicked edge, and despite himself Jack felt the frost spread across his cheekbones in a cold blush. His obvious embarrassment seemed to please Bunny enough for the topic to be dropped however, and the other proceeded to hold up a garment approximately the size of a small circus tent. "Anyways, the Jack Frost Naked Hour won't be necessary; I've got a bathrobe here for when you're done."

Jack couldn't' help but gape for a minute at the large green hunk of terrycloth. While it looked comfortable enough, it also looked big enough for him and Bunny to share, and wow, where did that thought come from, and while we're at it, hello again blush.

"Bunny! I can't wear that! It's huge! It'll be like, a, well, a big green dress! I mean, I'm forward thinking, but I draw the line at dressing like a chick." Which Jack totally did, cause skirts looked too breezy for his tastes and he was always flying so people could just look right up there at his junk, and who thought that wrapping a tiny bit of fabric around the hips was a practical wardrobe option, anyways? Bunny for his part simply threw his head back and laughed, and Jack was suddenly struck by the weirdness of the moment; here he was, naked in the bath, with Bunny of all people. Not in the bath with him, just in the room. And not naked, well, no more naked then he always was, which was weird on its own, so technically there were naked together, and Jack was wet and the earlier warmth of the water had done funny things to him, so he might've been just a little bit hard even though his embarrassment had killed it, mostly. Not quite completely, though maybe, and wow, okay, Aster had nice teeth too, very white and even despite looking nothing like human teeth. Which is about the only thing they have in common at all, and wow Jack, it is definitely time to get a grip! With a mighty yank Jack reigned in both libido and shame, though just barely.

"Well if you're through having a chuckle at my expense, you could drop the ladies evening wear and leave me to it. Unless you want to watch?" Jack's tone on the last sentence was biting, daring, and Bunny stopped laughing, a calculating flash in his eyes as he gave Jack a once over. Jack had risen out of the water a couple inches while speaking without realizing it, exposing the curve of his shoulders and the lines of his biceps and forearms to the cooler air, the temperature discrepancy raising gooseflesh along his arms and making his nipples pebble even beneath the water and out of Bunny's line of site. The other regarded him for a long moment, probably too long, and Jack felt like a butterfly pinned to a board and under a magnifying glass. He wanted to duck under the water entirely; hide his face, hide his undesirability beneath the surface, but he held firm, holding Bunny's gaze until the rabbit looked away, green eyes skating over Jack's body like the water was transparent to his gaze. This was just another competition, Jack told himself, unable to quite suppress the shiver cause by the inspection. This was just another jab at each other, another way to poke until they bruised, the way they always did. Yet, even as Jack tried to convince himself, the air seeming to stretch taut between them, rife with some sort of unspoken implication that Jack wasn't sure he fully understood. Then, Bunny shrugged casually and the moment broke. Folding the robe and laying it down within easy reach of the tub, Bunny sauntered over to where a washboard had been left lying, dumping Jack's dirty clothes on top of it in preparation for later washing.

"Well, get on with it then, ice boy. Time's a wastin'." Bunny said over his shoulder, not deigning to look at Jack behind him. "Sooner you get back onto those toes of yours the sooner we get you whipped into shape." His piece now said, Bunny made for the door, only to pause just before exiting.

"Y'know kid, no funny business in that tub, yeah?" Green eyes met blue as Bunny looked back over his shoulder at Jack, gaze full of a meaning that Jack took a moment to catch.

"Funny business? I don't know what you... oh, OH, EW, Bunny! No, I wasn't I mean I wouldn't, just, fucking hell, GET OUT!" Jack was tempted to toss the bar of soap at those stupid rabbit ears to illustrate his point, it being the only thing at hand, but then he'd be forced to climb out and cross the room wet and nude and still half-dirty to get it back, which was a more alarming prospect then letting Bunny get away with his naughty accusations. Again though, Jack was apparently more hilarious than intimidating, because Bunny just laughed; a rich, vibrant sound that caught strangely in Jack's chest and belly.

"Well kiddo, I will say this..." Bunny turned from the door, taking a couple steps back into the room to put him closer to the tub, and Jack was suddenly hyper aware that again he'd stood up during his little speech, and was now bare to the waist before the other man, droplets of water running from his hairline down his chest and stomach to meet the surface, which came up to just above his navel. When Bunny spoke, Jack was transfixed, unable to ignore him, their eyes catching and holding.

"I don't know what you were doing when I walked in, but I don't make noises like that in the bath without getting up to a little something, if yeh catch my drift, mate." Bunny's grin was a flash of pure evil, and it left Jack gaping as he wandered away nearly cackling with manic glee. Once he was gone, Jack closed his mouth with an audible snap, sinking back into decidedly cool water. Well, he still had a bath to finish, so he'd better get to it, and try not to think about what Bunny had implied he'd been doing earlier. Or what Bunny had also implied that he did in this very tub...

Those were not good thoughts, not good at all, not about a six foot tall fuzzy animal with an ugly temper. Determined, Jack shoved all thoughts of masturbation, his own or otherwise from his mind, and set to work on finger-combing the dirt clods out of his hair, aided by a generous handful of soap bubbles.

And if he spent the rest of the bath with an awkward boner, well, he was an eternal teenager; a nice pattern on the linoleum could make him hard. Nothing more to it than that, really.


	7. And the World Turned 'Round

Sorry for the long delay, I have some real life stuff on the go at the moment keeping me away from my writing. Next up will be a chapter of What Doesn't Kill You, followed by another chapter of Hope and Ruin, and well, you get the idea :) If it take a couple weeks though, rest assured I'm working on it, and I have no intentions of leaving either of these fics abandoned!

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The blue hoodie plunged into the wash water with a force usually reserved for throwing a hard right hook, and then began jerking up and down the washboard with extreme prejudice. The fabric, darkened to a deep shade of navy by water saturation, frothed with a rich lather, the scent of lemon and patchouli in the air. Aster knew he should ease up; now that he had the fabric in his hand he could feel how worn it was, how threadbare and thin it had become after years, perhaps even more than a decade of constant wear. While it was butter-soft to the touch, he could see the places where the stitches were loosening, threatening to come free at any moment, probably when Jack was spinning carelessly through the air, the harsh tug of the wind carrying him shredding the last vestiges of the seams until the whole thing fell apart, exposing far too much pale skin to sweet sunlight...

Aster snarled, giving the shirt one last furious scrub before rinsing it more harshly then required. When he finally deemed it clean and yanked it out of the tub, he found himself wringing it with an almost violent and completely unnecessary forcefulness. Done with the shirt, Aster chucked it into the basket he'd brought just to hold the cleaned laundry and snatched up Jack's pants instead. Sturdy linen, they looked much older and far more worn then even the hoodie. Setting them to the washboard, Aster resolved to be gentler, but found it difficult to reign in his temper when the act of washing just begged to be used as an outlet for his frustrations.

Let it be known that, for all the times that Jack has aroused Aster's frustrations, never before had those frustrations been sexual. Heh, aroused was right, all puns intended, and Aster felt the scowl stretch across his face at the insistent but unwanted throbbing between his legs. Stuffing down the physical reaction as best he could, Aster mentally smacked the little voice in his head that was finding the whole thing hilarious. Really, E. Aster Bunnymund, last of the Pooka, Warrior, Scholar, Guardian of Hope, reduced to busying his hands with mindless dirty work in an effort to still his overactive imagination. The very same imagination that kept reminding him that only a couple of hours ago Jack had been naked; wet and warm and soapy in this very tub. Aster remembered the boy pressed against the side of the tub; defensive and yet defiant as always, sneering at Aster with all the considerable force of his personality behind him, pale and far too thin and frail, water droplets cutting interesting pathways over the sharpness of his exposed collarbones. The boy was underfed, sickly, yet his eyes shone with cold fire, his thin lips curled enticingly with his anger, even as the water matting his hair to his scalp made prominent ears stand out further. For a moment, Jack had looked both fierce and ridiculous in ways that Aster had never, could never have imagined the Guardian of Fun to look.

Suddenly it was like the world had changed, or maybe shifted two steps to the left and all the things Aster had thought he'd known now sat slightly off centre to him. Previously, Jack had always been an awkward creature, socially clumsy and over-enthusiastic in mostly all the wrong ways, at least as far as Aster had been concerned. Sure, the kid was fantastic with the children, perhaps better than any of the rest of them, but Aster's hadn't considered him much good for anything beyond that. It hadn't mattered anyways, they weren't required to be best bosom buddies to work together at Guardians, so now that they had a grudging truce in place Aster figured he was in the clear to ignore the little hellion until he either A) messed with Easter again, or B) an emergency cropped up that required all hands on deck.

Then the boy had waltzed into his Warren, looking sullen but determined and Aster had found himself with a snowy little shadow. Their fragile ceasefire had been put to the test, and more than once Aster had thought that the moment had come to call an end to the cessation of hostilities, if only to have an excuse to punch the smug little bastard in his smirky little face. Yet, Aster had rode out the urge, holding himself back because Jack had held himself back, and Aster refused to be the one to cave first. But then, without consciously deciding too, Aster had found himself, watching, listening, and paying attention to the boy instead of just happily ignoring the extra body slouching about his Warren. There was something about Jack, some feeling he inspired beyond the negative ones Aster had begun to associate with him, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on but it intrigued him. Aster had put it off as simple curiosity, now that he'd uncovered the other side of Jack, the one that ran deeper than just fun and games, something that stretched almost dangerously close to responsibility and accountability and restitution. Something that made Aster... well, uncomfortable wasn't quite the right word, but some form of disquiet had settled upon him like an itch whenever he thought too hard about Jack and his motivations and reasons for being here, for driving himself so hard, for pushing and pushing and pushing until he'd almost broken himself, like all that had mattered had been proving a point. Like all that Jack had cared about was Aster and what he'd thought of Jack and damn everything else including the consequences until Jack had either won some unspecified contest between them or killed himself trying. Quite literally kill himself; with how weak he was Aster was surprised Jack hadn't keeled over days earlier. He'd been coming to the Warren for a little over a month before his collapse, and at the time that Aster had first drug him into the nest to care for him it had been made clear that Jack was still suffering from wounds delivered by Pitch's hands, wounds that should have long healed, except Jack hadn't spared the energy to do so. No, he was too busy fighting a war on all fronts; against himself, against his own body, against the energies of the Warren, so unlike his own and against Aster, too. No wonder the dumb kid had conked out face first into the dirt; he'd spread himself so thin he'd come up empty handed on the other side.

At first Aster had resented Jack the care he required to get better. Aster, for all his love of children wasn't thrilled about having to play nursemaid to an immortally snot-nosed teenager. Jack had enough attitude to kill with a glance, and his rough edges were downright dangerous to others, but Aster had chosen to endure because he did owe Jack for the consideration he'd shown and the help he'd been providing, and Aster paid his debts, always. Also, he was nothing if not a good host and having one's houseguest swoon away like a medieval maiden was a poor reflection on himself at the very least. But then, Jack had defied him, mouthed off in the way he'd done a thousand times before, and okay Aster had probably started it as he was wont to do, sue him for goading the boy that loved to needle him right back, and suddenly his whole paradigm shifted until Aster couldn't see things straight any more. Out of the blue the things that would have made Aster turn his nose up before seemed more sylvan and ethereal than artless and inept, and definitely no longer signs of a boy caught in the tumultuous throes of puberty. Sure, Jack needed to be fed well and sent to bed early until he filled out some and the shadows faded beneath his eyes, but his large hands and feet could be taken as a young bucks would, on the edge of the final push into maturity, when the mind was an adult and the body not quite caught up to the fact. His long limbs were no longer gangly but elegant, like a good doe's should be, and his slim frame may have been weakened by his sickness but Aster could see the bone structure and the way that, properly restored, Jack would be all lean sinews and delicate muscle, just like most Pooka. It was a misconception that Pooka Warriors were burly and muscular. Sure, they were stronger than most humans of comparable size owing to a difference in muscle density but Pooka's, like earth Rabbits, were fine-boned, slender creatures disguised by the length of their fur, and only owning their durability to harder skeletons and the aforementioned difference in muscle composition. Truthfully, Jack Frost naked, or at least as much of him as Aster had seen, was by human standards no more attractive than the next gawky teenage boy. Viewed through the lens of Pookan standards though, Jack, while forever trapped in the months before full physical maturation, was of a somewhat uncommon beauty. In Aster's mind it was easy to imagine Jack as a young Buck, winter-white furred with delicate silver markings like his frost ferns curling over his upper arms and down the ruff of fur at his chest. His blue eyes would be perfectly offset by a proper muzzle, not those silly flat faces that humans sported, and the unrefined jut of his ears would be transformed into the graceful sweep of long, lightly furred ears.

Aster had long ago pushed many of his Pookan ideologies to the background, content to ignore them forever. He was the last, there would be no more, so there was no use stifling himself with old instincts and cultural trapping that could do him no use. Sure he'd kept some of it, not willing to let it all lapse to time and forgetfulness, as his people deserved better than that, but he'd long ago let go of Pookan ideals of beauty, as there were no other Pooka left, so they would serve no purpose but to disappoint. Over the centuries he'd adapted to the more Human-oriented ideals, differing and constantly changing though they were, as most spirits he'd met were human shaped. It had worked to the point that Aster had found himself attracted enough to end up with the occasional casual lover over the years. Nothing serious owing to his commitments as a Guardian and a general lack of interest in something permanent in general, but human bodies had long since stopped being a stumbling block for him. Also, since many humans, spirit or otherwise, came with such a variety of sexual tastes and desires, Aster had found that his own shape was usually not enough rule him out right off the bat, at least not for those he'd had trysts with in the past. Jack was different though, and Aster's keen artist's eye could, for the first time in centuries, draw up the roadmap of Pookan beauty, lay it over the boy like a blanket, and not find him wanting.

No, Jack was another animal entirely; human though he was, there was a grace to him, a way of both motion and stillness that was as unfettered and wild as anything Aster had even seen among his people. Jack moved with purpose always, with an economy of motion even when he was flitting about like one of Tooth's fairies. Forever precise and never in anything less than perfect control, all tempered with the sense of balance to rival any cat. Jack didn't walk; he practically floated even when his feet were actually touching the ground, like somehow he weighed less than air. Which was untrue; take it from the guy who'd had to carry the frostling halfway across the Warren, unconscious. While light, Jack did in fact have some body weight to contend with, although perhaps just enough to coax him back into gravities arms when the flying was done.

Aster grunted his annoyance, realizing he'd lapsed into an almost poetic rant on the way the boy moved, for MiM's sake. Sure, now that he'd actually opened his eyes and paid attention it was easy to see the boy was attractive, but that changed nothing between them. There were still barely cooperative at best, and downright antagonistic to each other at the worst, and Aster knew that was unlikely to change. At least, not until Jack recovered enough of his strength that he could let down all the defensive walls he'd built up to overcompensate for the feelings of weakness and inadequacy he no doubt had swimming about in his brain right now. Aster would know, he did the same thing, and didn't that just sit unwell in his gut; the realization that he and Jack probably had far more in common with each other than either would like, or care to admit to.

With a final, snapping flourish, Aster flicked Jack's decrepit pants over the clothesline, pinning them in place with a twist of his wrist. There now, all done until morning, when the clothes would be dry enough to collect. Their wearer was long asleep, tucked into the nest and swaddled in the oversized green bathrobe that, yes, did in fact resemble some sort of fuzzy ball gown on the tiny body it encompassed, but Aster had, through herculean effort been able not to laugh as he served the kid dinner, and that alone seemed to settle the boy some. Just as Aster had suspected, a warm bath and full meal had lulled the frost spirit into an easy slumber, and Aster had chucked a quilt over the skinny body and left him to it, content to tidy up the kitchen and finish the laundry before he retired for the evening himself. Of course, he's also assumed that he'd be able to ignore the little byplay they'd had while Jack had been bathing as he did so, which turned out to be most definitely not the case as the low-grade arousal that had been simmering under the surface of his skin had welled up full force the moment he was no longer distracted by caring for the other Guardian. It was a ridiculous set of circumstances, to be honest. Sure, they riled each other up all the time, and it was really only a matter of time before something had driven their taunts into a more sexual arena, but Aster had never counted on actually reacting to Jack in such a visceral way. Unfortunately, while his mind still held firmly to the opinion that Jack was a kind-hearted disaster in the making, his body kept not-so-quietly insisting otherwise. Aster bit back a lively curse as he shuffled back into his den, the sharp, sweet burn of his unwanted arousal impossible to continue ignoring. Well, nothing for it, he'd have to succumb and take the problem somewhat literally in hand if he wanted any respite from his overactive hormones tonight. It had been too long, obviously, since he'd last indulged in the warmth of another's body. Refilling the tub for the third time that day, Aster gathered his favorite shampoos and bath oils, preparing himself for a good, long soak and a thorough wank. Perhaps, when his obligations to Jack were dispatched, he'd be free to seek out a new lover, or maybe even an old one feeling nostalgic for a few months of mutual pleasure. Someone who was as far away from scruffy white hair, haunting blue eyes and milky-smooth skin as he could find.

Slipping into the steaming water, Aster let loose a few colour curses as his groin tightened without his permission at that last thought. With an unhappy sigh, he wrapped his fingers around his demanding erection, resigning himself to the challenge of trying to bring himself off to anything that wasn't Jack fucking Frost. Assuming he could somehow manage to keep the boy from creeping into his thoughts unbidden for the next ten minutes; a nearly impossible task considering he'd been failing miserably at it since the boy had first shown up at his Warren looking to help. Of course, back then the thoughts had been tainted by anger, not lust.

White hair, blue eyes, miles of unmarked, pale skin...

Oh MiMdammitall, make that five minutes, and he'd be thinking of Jack the whole way. There were special seats in hell for people that jerked it to thoughts of bedridden jailbait, Aster had no doubt, and one of them most certainly had his name on it. The worst part though, he figured as he let his hand speed up, was that damn if this wasn't going to make breakfast tomorrow the most awkward fucking meal of the day.

The orgasm that followed was _brilliant_, and Aster knew he'd carry the guilt of it for longer then he cared to think about.


	8. The Sun Came Up

Again, forgive the delay on my updates, until I find myself a new job, it'll probably continue. :(

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The fingers combing through Jack's hair were damn near perfect, the blunt fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp in a way that brought gooseflesh up on his arms and down the back of his neck. Jack hummed quietly in appreciation, tipping his head back into the motion, eyes closed with pleasure. The laugh rumbled through his companion, shaking Jack as well all along the length of their bodies where they were pressed together, side by side. Jack wanted to open his eyes proper and see, to speak, to lean into his mystery lover and touch back, but his whole body felt lax; warm and weighty with sleep and the unexpected joy of the moment. Hot breath huffed across his face once, then twice; his partner was laughing at him. Jack could only whine in response, pushing his hips forward in a silent plea for what he needed most of all. Jack's stiffened prick wept with need, the wet head leaving sticky little patches on his stomach as it twitched, begging to be touched. The larger body beside him uncurled, slid downward, and Jack felt himself arch involuntarily, hips lifting in offering toward his unseen partner. Still unable to open his eyes to watch the proceedings, Jack undulated against the soft moss of the nest he lay in, empty and naked and needy, fingers clutching uselessly in the air at his sides.

Nest. Bunny's nest.

Bunny.

Oh, Fuck.

The realization hit Jack just as the dream crested; with the heat of a furry face settling between Jack's slim thighs to nuzzle against his modest manhood. The first imaginings of that searing breath against his most sensitive of flesh had Jack's orgasm slamming into him in a rush like a blow to the head; all dizziness and spots flaring behind clenched eyelids, the oversized bathrobe he was clad in now wetted with the unmistakable flood of liquid pleasure. Which, fuck it all, really sucked because not only was he now tacky, the damn thing would have to be washed.

Again.

For the third day in a row.

Ever since the enforced bath, Jack hadn't been able to clear his head. Bunny had kept creeping in, slipping through all the back doors of his mind, like he had absolutely no regard for the fact that Jack had spent years constructing a mental fortress strong enough to stand against the loneliness and solitude that had been most of his life so far. Jack had thought for sure his defenses were stronger than anything, but somehow fuzzy rabbit-shaped Guardians of Hope were the exception. The only, exceedingly annoying, not to mention confusing exception, and Jack wasn't sure how much more he could take. Okay, so admittedly, the wet dreams really weren't anything new. Jack hadn't really been making a regular habit of sleeping, at least not before he'd gone ten rounds with the Nightmare King and then nearly offed himself through overwork and what Jack knew now was dangerous levels of stubbornness and stupidity on his part. He had though, spent enough time in slumber over three centuries to have had more than a few racy dreams leave him sticky and frustrated come morning. Of course, that was before his most aggravating of all coworkers had decided to become the main attraction. No, now it was Bunny: Guardian of Hope and star of all Jack's suddenly far-to-frequent nocturnal fantasies, come see him today in the forefront of Jack's brain, live in and HD with surround sound! But wait, there's more, participate now and get an additional helping of awkward moments and muddled feelings absolutely free!

Jack also needed to stop watching late night infomercials over people's shoulders too, apparently.

Groaning and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, Jack scrubbed the sleep from them until he saw starbursts. If only any of this could actually make sense somehow. Jack had always disliked Bunny, something about the other male just rubbing him the wrong way. And okay Jack hadn't really helped matters much, what with the whole Easter '68 debacle, and then the latest flub-up with Pitch, but the others at least had seemed prepared to give him a shot, a favour Jack was eventually happy to return, once he'd warmed up to the idea. Bunny had shut him down right from the starting gate though, and that still stung. Not that Jack hadn't deserved it maybe. Well, more like definitely, but still, for some reason Bunny's opinion mattered to Jack in a way that no one else, even North's seemed to. Bunny's words had weight, but so did his silences, and Jack wanted to learn to navigate that territory, to earn the right to Bunny's thoughts and feelings legitimately, to be a part of his council, of his confidences. Perhaps it was the challenge of it, after Pitch Jack knew that the others would welcome him with open arms, and while they weren't well acquainted yet, they certainly could be in a short amount of time if only because the others were willing to share themselves with him. If they were all open windows however, Bunny was a locked door, likely with a spike pit in front of it and guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. Bunny was shut down tighter than anyone Jack had ever seen before himself included, and something in that spoke to him. Like versus like crying out to one another perhaps, a mutual recognition of pain. At last, Jack assumed it was mutual. Bunny had been looking at him differently lately, like Jack was something to be peeled back in layers until the very meat of him was all raw and exposed. A part of Jack though maybe, just maybe, he wanted to let Bunny try, just to see what would happen.

The thought made Jack blanch a bit when he realized just how many inadvertent sexual implications he'd manage to charge one simple idea with. Really, he wasn't usually like this, but then Bunny had gone and made allusions about how he was spending his time in the bath, and his mostly-ignored hormones were more than ready to take the lead and go charging right off the cliff into some bizarre sexual awakening. Could you have a sexual awakening a three hundred plus years old? For the sake of his sanity, Jack desperately wanted to say no, but he had a sneaky suspicion he'd only be lying to himself. Jack and seen and done a lot of different things during his decades alone, many of which he was less than proud of, but sex was one field that Jack still found himself mostly clueless in. Well, he understood the mechanics, but it was in the same abstract way that someone who'd only read about an elephant could imagine what it looked like. He had no hands-on experience, no pun intended. Unsurprisingly, it turns out that most spirits didn't really dig the whole teenage frozen corpse deal for a sex partner. Not that Jack had been without offers, there had been a couple brave souls, but it had become very obvious in each circumstance before they'd even stolen a kiss that they wanted him precisely because he was a teenage frozen corpse, or some combination of the three. Which was such a turn off, knowing that they were only looking to satisfy a fetish with Jack's willing flesh. Jack felt kind of dirty just thinking about what it would have been like to have let them take what they wanted. He could only imagine they would have fucked him like a piece of decorative furniture and left him as soon as the orgasm ended, and really, Jack wasn't the most romantic dude in the world, but he at least wanted to like the guy who popped his cherry. Or girl, possibly, but most likely guy, because from what Jack had seen in his human memories and felt in all the time since, he'd always preferred the thought of taking a cock over being the guy doing the taking. And boy was he glad that the spirit world didn't really give a shit about homosexuality the way the human world did, because in his day he'd have hung or burnt for it if he'd ever been caught. Not exactly the way he'd want to go. Of course, he'd gone and got himself drowned before it ever became an issue, which wasn't something one would usually be thankful for, but in this case seemed to be working out for Jack just fine.

Sighing with frustration at the way his thoughts kept chasing themselves down the same paths they'd been over the last few days, Jack sat up, wincing as the fabric at his groin pulled a bit where it was stuck to his skin with the motion. Nothing for it though, he'd have to peel the whole mess off and sneak to the bathroom. With any luck he'd be able to slip into a quick bath and scrub the robe before Bunny came to get him for breakfast. He'd been successful the last two days, and while Jack had flushed about a hundred shades of blue and frosty as he hung the robe on the line to dry, Bunny had said and done nothing but raise a single eyebrow at him. Which was completely out of character for the guy that seemed to live to rub all of Jack's shit into his face at every available opportunity, but Jack wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had no doubt that Bunny knew what was going on though, after all there weren't many reason for a teenage boy to need to wash his sleep clothes every single morning, and Bunny was many things but a fool was not one of them. Regardless, whatever Bunny's motivations were for keeping quiet, Jack couldn't' help but feel ridiculously grateful for the silence on the matter. He was humiliated enough by his body's rebellion as it was and having some lagomorph-of-unusual-size commenting on it might have just convinced him to commit ritualistic suicide to spare himself the mortification. Jack had gotten the sex talk exactly once from his human mother, about a year before his death when he'd first descended into the throes of adolescent hormonal hell, and that was bad enough, he wasn't going to put up with any snarky shit from the rabbit, thanks! Throwing the quilt back, Jack made to stand so as to escape to the bathroom, but was brought up short by Bunny himself entering the room. It was a knee-jerk reaction to yank the quilt back over his lap to hide the evidence of his night-time naughty thoughts, but he didn't think it had done much good when he caught Bunny's face from the corner of his eye. The Pooka froze in the doorway, nose twitching like he'd picked up an interesting scent, and oh fuckitall, he _knew._ When their eyes met, the moment pregnant with awkward tension, Jack didn't need to see the gleam in them to know that it was the truth. Bunny could smell it on him, in the air, in the fabric of his robe and the quilt. Jack had brought himself off enough times alone in dark corners to know that sex had a smell; and while it had faded enough to his own nose to be unnoticeable, Bunny had proven in previous circumstances that his senses were much better than the average human's. There was no doubt he smelled Jack's release, and had guessed what had happened. Or worse, maybe Bunny thought that Jack had been pulling it in his nest, which, ew, totally not on his list of top ten things to do, ever. While pissing Bunny off did have his merits, someone else's bed was kind of sacrosanct, and Jack had no intention of despoiling the nest unless Bunny was there to do the despoiling right along with him.

Dear Jack, please delete that last thought from your mental database, you'll thank yourself later.

With a forced cough, Jack tore his eyes away from his hosts, ready to end the silent battle of wills in order to hide his embarrassment as best he could. There was no way Bunny could ignore this, and any minute now, he was going to tear Jack a new one, or commence with the mocking, and whatever it was Jack hoped he'd get on with it so he could toss in his two cents with a large helping of bitter sarcasm and move on with his day. Usually a verbal spar with Bunny was a welcome opportunity to sharpen his already deadly claws on the other, but today he was just so tired of the whole charade, he just wanted to take his lumps and try again tomorrow. Things had been weird between them lately, and Jack wasn't quite sure what to do to regain the expected equilibrium. He felt his shoulders tense, staring holes into the quilt as Bunny stepping forward right to the edge of the nest. Jack waited for something, anything, but was still somehow completely unprepared for the rush of fabric past his face, landing onto his lap with a soft smack. Blinking in shock, Jack took in the thick, dark-washed denim, thin white cotton and rich royal blue taking up real estate on his thighs.

"Here kid, put those on after your bath." Jack frosted again in shame, knowing that Bunny knew damn well why he'd be taking said bath, and yet the flutter of gratitude in his gut to Bunny for not stating the reason aloud calmed him. Despite that though, nothing in Bunny's statement helped with Jack's most pressing concern, which was finding out what the hell was in his lap.

"Bunny, what the hell is in my lap?" Okay, verbal filter is turned off today obviously. Oh well, the direct approach wasn't all bad, Jack figured. It was bound to get him answers faster than just dancing around the issue with heavy doses of witty banter would, anyways.

"It's clothes, Jack. Y'know, those bits of fabric you hairless one's wear so you're junk isn't flapping about in the breeze all day. I want you to put them on after you bathe, so we can burn the old ones." That had Jack blinking in surprise, unable to prevent the next words from flying out of his lips.

"But, why?" Jack almost smacked himself for sounding like such a country bumpkin, no wonder Bunny was giving him the eyebrow of doom again.

"Why what? Why burn the old ones? Because they're no longer fit for dogs to wear, much less frost spirits that are now very high profile and did I mention suddenly visible to all and sundry? Or did you mean, why wear the new ones? Because I don't fancy the thought of your bare backside all over my furniture. Any other questions now princess, or can I go back to cooking for your ungrateful arse?" Bunny had straightened up while he spoke, arms crossing over his impressive chest and Jack couldn't help but feel foolish, and perhaps slightly intimidated.

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Don't wreck the porridge, old man." Grunting his annoyance, Bunny turned and his heel and strode out, slamming the door with a finality that let Jack know he'd succeeded in pissing the other off. Great, not exactly what he'd set out to do, but too late now. With a sigh, Jack stood, scooping up the new clothing and making his way to the bathing chambers. He washed quickly, scrubbing out the robe and chucking the damp mass into a laundry basket to take upstairs to the line. He then towelled off quickly, before his slowly renewing powers started causing the drops to freeze to his skin. He was somewhat perturbed by the implication that his old clothing was unfit to be worn anymore. The pants were one of the last links to his human past remaining, save his newfound memories, and Jack was admittedly reluctant to let them go. He couldn't deny however that they were increasingly threadbare and were long past the point that jack could continue to repair them. Grudgingly, Jack admitted that it was time for replacements, if only to spare himself the embarrassment of having them fall off in front of a bunch of kids or something. Jack figured he could always persuade Bunny to let Jack keep them as opposed to burning, anyways. Just because he couldn't wear them anymore didn't mean that he couldn't still hold on to them for sentimental reason.

Decision made and mind soothed, it was only then that Jack allowed himself to examine the new outfit. The dark denim was unsurprisingly a pair of skinny jeans, which, while ankle-length unlike the pants he'd been wearing, would probably at least fit similarly enough to not bother him. The white cotton turned out to be a t-shirt, plain and unadorned with a simple v-neck and sized to fit snugly, but not skin-tight. The royal blue was another hoodie, this one with a zipper up the front he could open to show off the t-shirt underneath if he wanted. The sleeves were a touch longer than his old one, and came equipped with built-in thumb holes in the cuffs, which after trying out Jack decided he very much liked. The hood was nice and deep; allowing him to cast his whole face into shadow when pulled up, which was a habit of Jack's when he was feeling depressed, or uneasy. The material and textures were new and different, feeling strange against his skin, but all in all the outfit was perfect, both in size and style. As Jack stood in front of the mirror taking it all in, he couldn't help but wonder at the fact that Bunny had somehow, without even asking, clothed him exactly as Jack would have clothed himself.

Now, if only Jack could figure out exactly when the boy in the mirror had become a stranger to him, then, to borrow a phrase, everything would be apples.


End file.
